Caged
by Smelly Socks
Summary: Cherissa of Eldorne and Tirragan has been trapped by her title all of her life. She longs to become a warrior, but the pressing duty to marry into rich family to save her lands continues to keep her ensnared...


This is an old story that I found among my ancient binders, so I edited it up quite a bit and I'm posting it here. If you review my chances of updating are 99percent...

She watched the boy climb up Baylor's Needle, looking determined. He looked about seven, two years older than her own five years. She sighed. He was probably a page (children six and up were now let in, a change made by Sir Nealen, the temporary training master, because of the shortage of knights), training to become a knight. And delivering a message for...who? Lady/Sir Keladry, perhaps, or Sir Cleon, or Sir Owen. She wondered who the training master would be next year. As if it mattered. Her mother, Lady Delia of Eldorne had been very firm. She had said that the only idiots to become a Lady knight were Lady/Sir Alanna, who had killed Cherissa's own father - Sir Alex of Tirragan, and Lady/Sir Keladry, the savage from the Yamani islands, who was often mistaken as a man anyway.

She longed to become the third female page. She hated her mother's sharp reprimands at every stitch slightly bigger than the others, at every giggle less flirtatious than the last, at every gasp as her corset was pulled in tighter, as much as she hated her title - Lady Cherissa of Eldorne and Tirragan. She spent her idle time dreaming that she was a peasant, hard-worked and coarse, free to become one of the Queen's Riders when she turned fifteen. Free to choose a husband that didn't have enough money to bring Eldorne out of debt. Free to run away without worries of being caught and offered back for ransom, or of being the cause of ruin for a thousand peasants.

The boy had now reached the top of the tower, and was looking down at the view. Then, to her astonishment, instead of delivering a message and leaving looking particularly smug, as she had watched other pages do countless times, he glanced around quickly to make sure no one was looking, then settled himself on the inner banister for a long ride down. She giggled suddenly, imagining what her mother would do were she in the place of this boy. She stopped abruptly as she heard the rustle of skirts of her mother approaching.

"What?" her mother demanded.

"Nothing, Ma'am," she said quickly, sitting up taller so that she blocked Baylor's Needle from her mother's sight.

"Don't you lie to me, you thankless little wretch!" her mother said shrilly, retrieving a handkerchief from the windowsill. "After all I've done for you!"

Cherissa sighed. Whether she liked it or not, her life was reality.

BOPBOPBOP

Lazare savored the feeling of flying, looking around him at the spinning ground below. Banister sliding was a long polished art that he'd taken up two years before, when they had repaired Baylor's needle at last. The outer railing that circled his own banister kept him perfectly safe, although he hadn't fallen off in years.

Suddenly he heard a long call "Lazaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeee". He almost answered it, but then stopped, knowing if he were caught riding the banister rather than doing his work for lessons tomorrow, he would be in for a long lecture with his ma. Wincing at the thought, he sighed in relief as his feet suddenly reached the ground, and trotted off to answer his mother's summons.

BOPBOPBOP

Fresh from an afternoon ride, Cherissa approached her apartments prettily flushed from the chilly air outside. She paused with a gloved hand on the doorknob, ear to the door, and felt a rush of dread as she heard the unmistakable laughter of her mother and the quiet chink of china. It could only be another of Cherissa's suitors.

"This is Lord Borigston" her mother introduced as she entered the room. She tried to smile politely as he looked her up and down, pausing an extra long time to look at her bosom, partly revealed by her neat black riding dress. Then she remembered her manners and curtsied, cringing at the thought of giving him a look down her dress. He smiled in satisfaction and pressed his lips to her hand, looking up at her suggestively as he did. When he did not release her hand, she coughed delicately so that she could free her hand to cover her mouth.

"You will be at the ball, yes?" he inquired in what he obviously thought was a delicate accent. When she tried to smile and managed to nod slightly, he smirked. "Then I must claim the first two dances."

When he left, she stared at her mother in shock. "Mother, I'm fifteen!" she burst out. "And he was what, 40? It's disgusting!"

"He is 56," her mother replied. "He has aged well," she added consideringly. "And I danced with Sir Myles when I was your age, and there was a 50 year gap between us.

"Well at least Sir Myles wasn't a stuck up ass," Cherissa shouted.

"Cherissa, whatever you think of the Lord, he is rich, and looking for a young wife. If you do not give Lord Borigston the dances he requested, I shall sell your horse," her mother proclaimed.

Cherissa's heart sank considerably.

BOPBOPBOP

Cherissa stared at the dress, wishing that her mother had a sense of humor and this was perhaps a very bad joke. The style had come from the Copper Isles – an off the shoulder with diagonal frills for the skirt. The dress was scarlet to make her skin look pale, so she had doubt that she could be invisible that night. She had already begged a headache for the past two nights, and anymore would be decidedly suspicious. She sensed a long night.

BOPBOPBOP

Lazare looked around. He hated parties even with his friends. Without them was torture.

He looked around for the newest beauty. Some of the other knights made it a game, trying to see who could bed the most ladies. He preferred to admire them from afar, free to leave easily without worries of breaching a rule of etiquette.

Another one entered, this one wearing a dress of daring red, her lips painted to match. On any other girl it would have looked obnoxious, but this girl held herself like a queen, dress and all.

He watched in slight amusement as she descended the stairs to a small crowd of gentlemen below, and his amusement changed to slight shock when she separated Lord Borigston from the cluster and walked with him to the dance floor. Her grace made up for his blundering steps, as she led him through a waltz and a gavotte.

Daneis approached him at last. "You're late," Lazare told him reproachfully, his eyes not leaving the badly paired couple.

"Smitten with a lady at last, Lazare?" Daneis asked, following his line of sight.

"Disgusted, more like," Lazare replied. "Only the court whores come within ten feet of Borigston. What makes this one so desperate?"

"She's an Eldorne and Tirragan," Daneis supplied, which was ample reason. After Delia's part in the conspiracy against the throne, Eldorne had fared poorly. When Alex of Tirragan had been brought back to life fifteen years ago, Delia had taken part in a new conspiracy, which had only been stopped when Aliane of Pirate's Swoop had slain Alex a second time. Now, only the least respectable of merchants traded with Eldorne. Only Delia's few admirers had kept the house from total ruin.

"Tirragan _and_ Eldorne? Pity." Shaking himself out of his reverie, he grinned suddenly. "Fancy a stop at the Dove?"

BOPBOPBOP

Had it not been entirely too unseemly and attention calling, Cherissa would have screamed. Whenever she managed to escape Lord Borigston for a moment, he would return, more drunk than before and insisting another dance. Finally she detangled herself and exited the hall, making a dash for the city. If she could make it to the Dancing Dove, she would be safe for the night, as long as Karson was in.

She walked as fast as her high heels would allow, but it was not fast enough. Before she could reach the friendly lights of the city, he had caught up with her again.

She tried to muster up a polite look, and waited for him to stop leaning against her, breathing foul breath onto her bosom. When he didn't, she stepped away slightly, only to find that he moved with her. "Lord Borigston, I'm afraid that I must be leaving," she said, depositing him on a bush and fleeing.

He grabbed at her dress and caught a handful of the skirt as she moved away, causing her to lose her balance and fall next to him, beside the bush. Before she could get up, he had rolled on top of her.

She struggled to get up and found that his weight was too great. His lips crushed against hers, and she tasted rancid ale. Groping for the knife in her boots, she remembered that she had forgotten to put them on in her rush to escape.

She slapped his face but the impact was small because her arm was partway pinned down. He grunted and moved his lips to her breasts, his mouth wet and foul.

Cherissa had had enough. Mustering up her strength, she rolled so that they both lay on their sides, and kneed him roughly in the groin. He doubled over with a groan of pain, and she kicked him again, just to be sure, before she fled, stuffing her heels in the next bush over.

It was moments after Lazare and Daneis entered the bar the Cherissa appeared in the doorway, her hair disheveled and the back of her dress muddy and torn. Her lip paint was smeared, and her eyes gleamed with anger and determination.

Luck was with her at last – Karson was in. When he saw her state his eyebrows shot up...immediately he ushered her into his back room, where he cleared the two chairs by the fire of a set of gleaming knives and a ruby necklace.

"Who was it?" he demanded, his jaw set with rage, as the settled themselves in the overstuffed chairs.

Cherissa sighed. "One of mother's newest. Lord Borigston. He's 56," she added. "I got away before he could do anything, and he was too drunk to know who kicked his groin, so I don't think he'll be any danger to me tomorrow. Karson, please, for me; don't send your men after him. The court is suspicious enough, what with Edgar and Lord Aslemeyer disappearing like they did. And Lord Borigston is well-known, too. He teaches foreign policy to the pages. If he were dead suddenly, they'd send investigators."

She could see Karson's jaw clench at the thought of anyone messing with his girl. She touched his cheek softly, tracing the scar that ran from the corner of his lip to his ear, from the battle that had left him King of the Rouge.

Finally he sighed. "Alright. I let it go this time, but if he ever comes near you again, well...he might dissapear."

She brushed her lips against his cheek. "Thank you, Karson."


End file.
